


The Art of Passion

by DaturaMoon



Series: Oscar Isaac Characters [1]
Category: Oscar Isaac - Fandom, laurent leclaire - Fandom
Genre: Black Female Character, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-23
Updated: 2021-01-23
Packaged: 2021-03-15 06:35:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 873
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28934130
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DaturaMoon/pseuds/DaturaMoon
Summary: I’m weirdly obsessed with the Victorian era, so I love doing this kind of stuff. I always like to imagine what Laurent’s life as a painter was like, as he mentioned in the film (In Secret). So it’s more based on this than the main film events.
Relationships: Laurent / Female Character
Series: Oscar Isaac Characters [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2122125
Comments: 1
Kudos: 2





	The Art of Passion

**Author's Note:**

> I’m weirdly obsessed with the Victorian era, so I love doing this kind of stuff. I always like to imagine what Laurent’s life as a painter was like, as he mentioned in the film (In Secret). So it’s more based on this than the main film events.

Waiting for the tea to cool, Estelle’s eyes wander across the square. How different it is in the daylight, she thinks. 

Despite being an introvert, she did enjoy watching others. It was already a passtime before Paris. Now, she did it more than ever, this city seemed made for it. At times, if she wasn’t careful, Estelle would lose time watching the people as they walked by.

“Estelle, look.” Madame Carriere’s voice pulls her back to the present. Blinking twice, Estelle turns her head to face her aunt. 

“Yes?” 

“Dreaming again, aren't you?” She shakes her head slightly. “Over there, look…” 

Estelle follows her line of sight, eventually zoning in on the back of a man carrying a painting. 

“That is exquisite, well done for someone of his...status.” 

“How do you know what his status is, we can only see his back.” Estelle asks.

“His clothing dear, look,” she makes a small gesture with her hand, “but, that’s beside the point. I need a portrait for the shop and that ….imbecile of a painter tried to overcharge me, I fired him. But him,” she points with her finger, “I bet he would do it for a more than reasonable price.” 

Estelle starts to tune her out. She loved her Aunt, but she was vain and more self absorbed that Estelle cared for. Over the last two months, Madame Juliet Carriere was on a mission to get a portrait done. Though she had the money, she was offended whenever a quote above a certain price was given. The portrait was all she talked about for weeks and Estelle hoped she could find someone, anyone, just to get it over with. 

“Estelle, are you listening?” A shrillness in her voice this time. 

Estelle sighs and lifts the tea cup, not making eye contact. “I missed what you said.” 

“Of course you did, I suppose I have to handle it myself then.” Perturbed, Madam Carriere stands and smooths out her skirt. Only then does Estelle look at her. “I’ll be back,” she starts to turn away, pauses, then glances over her shoulder at Estelle, “you’re supposed to help me out. You remember that?” 

I do. Estelle things. The shop, the house, a million other things she can name. Many times she felt more like an employee than her niece. 

With an air of frustration, Madam Carriere leaves the table and quickly crosses the street. Estelle slowly sips the tea, her eyes steady on her aunt as she taps the painter on the shoulder, his back still toward them. 

Estelle feels a nervousness rise in her, one she can’t account for. As the stranger turns around, she nearly gasps at the sight of his face. Estelle has never seen a man so - beautiful before. His dark black curls and side burns frame a perfect bone structure; rich dark eyes look back at her, over her aunt's shoulder. 

Quickly dropping her gaze, Estelle carefully put the cup down, to prevent from spilling it, or dropping it. Moving her hands beneath the table, she places them flat over the fabric of her dress. 

Don’t look. Don’t look. 

The temptation is too great, she loses the battle. 

Though she can’t hear the conversation, her aunt seems to have him engaged and when a laugh falls off his lips, she’s sure her aunt is either flirting with or complimenting the handsome stranger. Madame Carriere was known for her beauty and youth wherever she went; confidence was something she never lacked. 

Estelles eyes travel over his clothes, though simple and cheap, on him, they look valuable. His body looks strong and she wonders what he’s like underneath. The thought sends a wave of heat over her skin and she bites back the thought to calm her excitement. 

As her aunt speaks to him, his eyes meet hers often, each time her corset feels tighte and it feels harder to breathe. When they make their way over to the table, Estelle feels like fleeing. 

Taking a breath in, Estelle calms herself and continues to sit upright, settling her eyes with anything other than them. She only acknowledges them when they reach the table. 

“See, I told you, always drifting. This is my niece, Estelle Honore, Estelle, this is -” 

He extends his hand, eyes locked on hers. All the countless times she made eye contact with people, none ever felt this. It was almost too intense to look at him. “ Laurent LeClaire.” A smirk draws on her lips and she bites the inside of her cheek, keeping eye contact. She raises her hand. 

His skin is warm as he takes her hand in his while lowering his head. Laurent’s lips are soft, almost pillowy againt her skin. Though it was the briefest of a kiss, it sets her on fire and when he releases her hand she feels the absence. 

“Estelle.” She replies softly. 

“Estelle.” He repeats. She watches the way her name sounds and looks on his lips. His perfect lips. 

Madame Carriere clears her throat,” I have excellent news! Laurent will paint my portrait. We will be seeing a lot of him until it’s done.” She smiles. 

Estelle nods, briefly making eye contact with her before looking at Laurent once more.


End file.
